


A Haven on Earth

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Romance, Schmoop, Walks In The Woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We were there," Haddock says softly, turning to Tintin. His face is partly in darkness, but in the silver light from the moon he looks puzzled. "No more than a year ago. How on Earth did that happen?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Haven on Earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delphi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/gifts).



> Written for Delphi as a thanks for her generous donation to the Doctors Without Borders. Thank you so much to my lovely beta, Halotolerant.

"Look," Haddock says, stopping in his tracks. 

The landscape is opening up before them, the forest ending; they are standing on top of a hill, the gentle slopes down towards the manor covered in soft darkness. There, down below, Tintin sees clearly the light shining from the windows of Marlinspike Hall -- the first real home he's had since he was a child, perhaps ever.

But the Captain isn't looking down. His eyes are raised upwards, to the brightness of the moon where it lights the night sky in flawless majesty, and there is something awed to his gaze.

"We were there," he says softly, turning to Tintin. His face is partly in darkness, but in the silver light from the moon he looks puzzled. "No more than a year ago. How on Earth did that happen?"

"Not on Earth," says Tintin, because he can't help himself. He takes Haddock's hand and grins. "You took some convincing, if I remember correctly."

"And no wonder," Haddock grumbles, though he squeezes Tintin's fingers in return. "A madman's adventure, it was. Even worse than usual."

"Perhaps," Tintin admits, although even now he can't help glancing longingly towards that giant orb of light -- imagining everything that lies beyond it, all that remains to be explored. "But aren't you glad you came?"

Haddock doesn't answer at first. His gaze rests in Tintin's, still filled with that puzzled softness, and Tintin again has to marvel at that journey and everything it brought about. 

"A madman's adventure," Haddock repeats, his voice a low murmur. "But I shouldn't be surprised. After all, each of them is -- and I'm certainly mad enough to follow you."

Warmth blossoms within Tintin; he finds himself grinning like a fool at the words and the Captain's tone alike. Their fingers tangle, and in the moonlight he can see Haddock's throat working. 

This is love, Tintin thinks as he reaches to touch Haddock's cheek with his free hand, as Haddock leans down for a kiss. This is what everyone is talking about, in novels and movies and magazines he's rarely had the time to read, except in stories like that it's always a man and a woman, good-looking and glamourous. The man buys her roses and they toast in champagne, and in the end he'll offer her diamonds. 

Those stories have little to do with reality; he's aware of that. What exists between him and the Captain has been forged through years of friendship. It owes its existence to lazy days fishing at Lake Marlinspike and reading in front of the fire as much as to heedless danger and the exhilaration of adventure. There is little glamour to Haddock's whisky -- not that champagne would be any better -- and neither has bought the other flowers or jewellery. But there is the safety of knowing they can count on each other, there is the comfort of fallling asleep in each other's arms, and it's very strange, really, that the stories rarely seem to be about such things.

He pulls away a little, breathing heavily against Haddock's mouth. Again he remembers the horror of that journey back to Earth, of not getting enough air, of thinking Haddock might be dead -- a shudder goes through him at the memory; he presses closer, asking silently for another kiss. Haddock's arms wind around him and hold him tight.

How terribly close he came to losing this, before he'd even had it.

"You know," he says as they break apart. "I never thought we wouldn't make it."

"You never do." Haddock's expression is exasperatedly fond; his hand curves around Tintin's cheek. "One of these days your luck is going to fail you, my lad. And then..." 

He stops dead, anguish passing over his face for one long moment, as if the possibility inherent in the words were somehow made more real by uttering them aloud. "Blistering barnacles," he mutters, shaking his head, passing his free hand over his face. "What a babbling old fool I am."

"You worry too much," Tintin says fondly, because it's true. How many times has Haddock not only grumbled and complained, but predicted the death of them both? And yet they are still here, despite everything. "We'll keep each other safe, won't we?"

Again that puzzled look on the Captain's face, followed by awe, as if Tintin is a miracle, a mirage in the desert. It makes him a little self-conscious; he does not know what to say next or if indeed there is anything more to be said. So he puts his hands around Haddock's face again and brings their mouths together, in promise as much as in reassurance. 

Soon they are leaning against the trunk of the large tree, half-hidden by the shadows -- not that there is anyone out here to see -- and they are kissing still, there is no stopping now, mouth against hungry mouth, hands roaming over each other's shoulders, arms, backs, the moon watching silently. Tintin turns his face up towards it, giving Haddock more space to lick at his neck, and thinks again, _We were there_. 

He imagines those long days and nights onboard the spaceship. What if they'd been like this with each other then? Too much, he thinks, dizzy now, spreading his legs to allow Haddock's trembling hand to open his trousers. Too much, it would have been too difficult not to share this, not to have this -- 

"Tintin," the Captain murmurs against his mouth. His hand has paused, resting hesitant over the half-undone buttons, and Tintin can't help bucking against it, craving contact, craving touch. "We could, you know, go back to the house -- that is, if you'd rather not, not out here..."

This is Haddock: the man who can yell and rant and behave like a disgruntled child, but who can also turn so very gentle at times like these, careful, almost shy. He had been the one with experience, when they first came together -- and this, Tintin senses, is the very thing that holds him back, making him hesitant, afraid of going too far. 

It is he, then, who takes the lead, covering Haddock's hand with his own and pressing against it, letting Haddock feel the hardness and eagerness of him. With his free hand he gets to work on Haddock's trousers, and soon there is no cloth between them, they are skin against hot skin, driving each other towards ecstasy with fumbling hands and kisses verging on bites. 

Tintin comes first, as he usually does, spilling into Haddock's fist with a cry -- and by God, he will never get used to this, it's the strangest and most exhilarating thing. He rests his forehead on Haddock's shoulder to catch his breath, though he doesn't slow his hand; he'd be hard pressed even if he wanted to, because Haddock feels so good to his touch, so hard and desperate and slick in his hand, and the Captain is gasping in his ear, his name over and over, until he finally finds release in Tintin's hand, sticky and warm and wet. 

They slump there against the tree for several long moments, speechless and breathless, before Haddock gets out his handkerchief and cleans them both up. He does it gently and swiftly, pressing a kiss to Tintin's brow as he tucks him back in and buttons up his trousers. 

"Blistering barnacles, what a mess," he mumbles, grimacing as he tucks away the soiled handkerchief. "Going about like this, at my age... You'll be the death of me yet, and no mistake."

But there is humour in his voice and his gaze is as tender as ever, and when Tintin pulls him close for one last kiss, there in the light of the moon, he makes no protest but responds with eagerness and warmth, as if to repeat what he has promised so often -- _where you go, I will follow_ \-- and no more words are needed, only this embrace, a safe haven here on Earth.


End file.
